


Not A Tame Horse

by Lasgalendil



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dwarf/Elf Relationship(s), Horseback Riding, Horses, Interspecies, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, M/M, One True Pairing, POV Animal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:17:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2826410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasgalendil/pseuds/Lasgalendil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Arod of Rohan only wishes his new Two Legs the Stallion she deserves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> May someday become part of "Of Starlight And Song" series continuity, I haven't decided yet...

Arod, was in fact, not impressed by his leader’s Two Legs. His own Two Legs and many more had only just fallen last night, and the remaining Two Legs had buried them deep under the grass with their shattered shields. No, the Horse-hatted Two Legs kept insisting on bringing all the Two Legs into these dangerous forays, and Firefoot did nothing to stop him.

[That tame Horse, that arrogant, gelded mule, damn him! How many more Two Legs would he let be killed while he gluttoned himself on apples and barley?]

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. His own Two Legs was only hours dead, struck from the saddle by an arrow. He had lain next to him, nuzzled him, wished him to mount again on his back and be Horsed as they had practiced so often and for so long… but his Two Legs had only bled out silently until he breathed no more. And now, it appeared, he was to be given a new Two Legs to ride him who had never caught him on the wild plains, never placed saddle and bridle upon him and ridden him until he discovered the joy of being ridden, never brushed his coat until it shone or braided his tail nor fed him sweet, rough oats or wrinkled winter apples from his hands.

[He wasn’t tame. Not a tame Horse. Still a proud Horse of these wide, wild lands. But he could consent to being ridden. When it pleased him.]

No, Arod decided. He would not take a new Two Legs. Not like this. He would not be given away like some tame Horse, like some gelding, like—like some _mule_!

 His Two Legs had been young. In time he thought the boy would become a proper Stallion like himself, siring colts and foals all throughout the corners of the Riddermark. But alas, no colts now. No foals. He blamed the Two Legs with the horse-tail hat for this, he and that stupid, fat Horse Firefoot. Would that he be gelded!

They came for him, these Two Legs already with Horses of their own, pulling the ropes of his bridle that he had consented for his own Two Legs to place upon him. They had no right to him, to this bridle, to this saddle, he was not their Horse, not some tame Horse that he should be humbled so! He would not be gifted away to strangers who had not earned him! He fought and struggled but the bit placed so lovingly beneath his tongue only the night before betrayed him. But still he stamped and sweated and neighed—he was not a tame Horse!

  _Peace, friend._

Oh.

...Oh!

 Arod stopped short and sneezed, astounded. This Two Legs could talk!

  _We wish you no ill, we understand your sorrow,_ the Two Legs said, coming forward to stroke his nose. _But we must ride, my companion and I. Will you consent to bear us?_

He eyed (and smelt) the Two Legs carefully. A Mare, he finally decided. A beautiful, Golden Mare. His other horses might laugh to see him ridden—call him tamed!—by some gentle Mare, but he cared not. There was power in this Two Legs, power and strength, and kindness mixed with sadness. Yes, yes he could bear this new Two Legs to the promise of safety and brushings and braidings and oats. Gladly.

 _I would not have you burdened so,_ his Two Legs told him. _I did not place this bit between your teeth. I did not earn your trust. I need them not, if you will but consent to be ridden._

He shook himself as bit, bridle, and saddle were gently undone and cast aside. He felt wild, free, untamed. He stamped his feet, threw back his head and whinnied. Let all Horses and Two Legs look upon him with envy! His Two Legs may be a Mare, but needed no rope or metal to subdue him. He would certainly follow her, bear her, keep her safe in these strange battles that Two Legs insisted upon. Yes, he would bite the face or neck of any who tried to hurt her, his new Two Legs and her…

 …her short, stumpy red Stallion.

Ah. That was unfortunate. His Golden Mare deserved better! There were plenty of Two Legs among his companions, noble, tall, and strong. But Mares (in his experience) were finicky, strange creatures, and yet hard won. Whatever this Red Stallion had done, then, she was his Mare now, that much was plain.

[Indeed, she had—if he remembered correctly—drawn arrows at the Horse-hatted one for raising his sword. The sight had set him nickering with mirth.]

_Let us go, bear us hence._

 His new Two Legs wanted to go back down the track towards the wood and the burning. That was a dangerous place! His Two Legs and twelve Horses had died there! The trees were wild, the forest unsafe for footing, and there were perhaps still yet orcs about. He spoke his disproval with snorts and stamps. He swung his head round as his Horses left them. Should they not instead follow the others back to the wooden city, where high walls, sweet grain, and apples awaited them?

[He was not a tame Horse. It was his Golden Mare's comfort he thought of, nothing more.]

  _Come, friend._

 But this was his Two Legs—his Golden Mare—he had consented to bear her, so bear her he would.

 [Not a tame Horse. He had to protect her. He was Horse. It was his duty.]

His Two Legs and her strange, Red Stallion followed Hasufel’s slow steps. No galloping for them today, it seemed. Hasufel’s new Two Legs bent over his neck, intent on the ground over which they trampled. Now there was a strong Two Legs worthy of his Mare!

[This other Two Legs had yet to impress him. It would seem the small Red Stallion had never been Horsed, if such a thing were possible!]

He listened as his Two Legs made their strange, shrill noises to one another. They sounded like mewling foals, just-born colts with their soft, high nickering. He wondered what, if anything, this Golden Mare might hear that he could not see. After all, did she not deserve better? She was pretty, for a Mare of the Two Legs, and had she been a Horse and in such heat every Stallion within twenty leagues would bloody himself in the fight for her.

“Bloody, stupid horse.”

“The ground is hard from winter, Friend Gimli, and is shorn with tussock and snow. The road will be rough, but less so than on foot.”

“Bloody, sodding horse.”

“Come, Master Dwarf. Surely after all we have seen together, you are not afraid of one small horse?”

Arod twitched his ears and shook his mane. He had seen many Two Legs ride together with their Mares before. He had once even consented to bear his own Two Legs and a Mare far from her father’s farm in the dead of night

[The Two Legs, it seemed, preferred to mate alone in the dark and cold rather than under the open sun so all could see with envy. How strange!]

 and he remembered the ride quite differently. They had clung together on his back, riding as one, already groaning and aching with pleasure and mating. This…this felt different.

Then it became apparent: his Mare was in heat, and this Red Stallion was a gelding!

...No, no, the smell of them did not lie. It was clearer now: her Red Stallion was still a shy Colt, uncertain of himself or how to impress her.

Oh, this would not do, he shook his tail. This would not do at all! It was, after all, his duty to his Two Legs to ensure that she bore and tended many fine, strong-legged colts and foals. And if her Red Colt were too shy for mating...well then. He must embolden him.

So Arod feigned to stumble. Again. And again. And again. Hasufel neighed his displeasure.

[Hasufel was a tame Horse, damn him, who cared little for the Two Legs who clung to his back. Hasufel had had many Two Legs, and consented to bear even those who did not find him on the great plains nor earn his respect, so long as there were oats to be had in plenty.]

“This bloody horse is trying to throw me!” the Colt cried.

“You must but hold tighter, Friend Gimli,” the Mare said softly.

“Bloody Elves,” the Colt huffed. “Could you not ride with saddle like the rest of us?”

 _What do you do, friend?_ His Two Legs stroked the skin of his neck with concern. _Do we displease you? Did you not consent to bear us?_

Arod only shook his mane, determined. She would thank him later, when her Red Colt took her tonight beneath the stars, of that he was certain.

…he bolted.

“ _Legolas—!_ ” the Red Colt screeched.

“Hold tightly!”

“LEGOLAS!”

“Hold me tightly!”

…and began to kick.

“BLOODY HORSE, BLOODY ELVES, BLOODY—“

“Just hold tightly!

“FUCKING HORSE, FUCKING ELVES, FUCKING—“

_What do you do, friend? What do you do? What has frightened you? We will keep you safe, there is no danger, no harm, no threat, you must slow down, my friend. Slow down. The battle has passed, you need not fear the corpses of the dead, the ground is hard and perilous. Slow down, my friend. You must slow down…_

_…_ then buck.

“BLOODY FUCKING FUCK SOD THIS FUCKING HORSE MAHAL-DAMNIT FUCKING FUCK DURIN’S BEARD MAHAL’S GREAT COCK THIS FUCKING HORSE—“

“Just hold me tightly!”

…then rear.

“LEGOLAS!”

“Just hold on to me, Gimli! You must hold on!”

 …then run.

“FUCK THIS FUCK YOU FUCK HORSES FUCK ELVES FUCK EVERYTHING—“

“Just hold tightly, Gimli!”

_Slow down. Slow down. Oh, please, my friend. You must slow down._

He was no pack horse, no mule, not tame horse, no gelding, he was unburdened, unbridled, and could run with the wind over the rough ground and snow-topped grass, over hill, across streams, plunging through the wintery waters of half-frozen fens—

“IF WE DIE ELF I WILL BLOODY FUCKING KILL YOU—“

“Gimli, hold on!”

_Slow down. Slow down. Please, please, my friend, slow down._

Hasufel [Ha! That fat, grain-fed gelding!] was giving chase, but nothing could tame him, nothing could chase him, nothing could catch him, he ran not as if the wolves of winter were upon him, no, but ran for the sheer joy and thrill and power of running itself, to feel speed and the surge of long limbs with the cold winds whipping his face, along hill-top and stone, leaping one great stride to another, stone to stone, boulder to boulder, hill top to hill top, hooves pounding, legs churning he ran for the sake of running itself—

“FOR FUCKS SAKE ELF—!”

“Just hold me, Gimli!”

_It is not safe. It is not safe. He cannot ride. Slow down, friend. Slow down._

Panting now. Sweating now. Foam flecking from his flanks. He pressed on. Lungs burning, legs churning he was Wingfoot, Felaróf, Shadowfax, one of the mearas of old come down from the North. He was Horse, Stallion, Warrior and before the fury of his hooves nothing could stand in his way—

“LEGOLAS LEGOLAS PLEASE—!”

“Gimli!”

_Please. The Dwarf. My Dwarf. Do not let him fall! Oh, my friend! Please!_

_Please._

…and stopped. Still as can be. Arod turned his head round, and the Golden Mare was slumped against his neck, fingers buried in his mane with her Red Colt pressed tightly against her, thick arms buried about her waist and stout legs firmly against her hips.

 All was well.

[And that, little Colt, is how you must ride such a Mare if you wish to keep her.]

“Fucking horse,” her Red Colt croaked hoarsely. “Get me off this fucking horse!”

The Golden Mare slid slowly off, helping him down with a soft, slender hand where they collapsed together in the frozen heath in a pile of fur and limbs, gasping at the harsh winter air.

But he only shook his mane, and blew hot wind from his nostrils on them both, breathing in their lusty, sweaty scent.

[Was that not wonderful, little ones?]

[Have I not taught you to ride well, and hard?]

“Bloody, fucking fuck, Elf!” the Red Colt spat. The Golden Mare only lay as if dazed.

“Legolas, Legolas?” he shook her shoulders roughly, then took her tenderly in his arms. “Legolas!”

“I—“

But at that moment fat Hasufel came cantering over the hill, urged on by the grim-faced Two Legs. Arod stamped his disproval and shook his tail, baring his great white teeth. Two Legs were so ridiculous and private. How would they go mating now with this strange horse and Two Legs watching?

[Go away, you great, fat gelding. Straw-eater. Mule! You will spoil everything!]

But Hasufel did neither care nor listen, and bore the Two-Legs closer.

[Tame Horse. Slave Horse. Mastered Horse!]

“Gimli, Legolas, my friends, are you well?”

“No!” the Red Colt snarled. “We are most certainly not bloody, fucking well!”

The Grim-faced Two Legs dismounted at once, running clumsily through the tussocks. “Were you thrown? Are you hurt?”

“I, what, no—“ the Golden Mare murmured, stirring. “I am well. I am not hurt, Friend Dwarf.”

“I had thought your people to be skilled riders, Elf!” the Colt huffed.

“And I the Men of the Mark to be masters of horse, yet perhaps these will not bear us well after all,” the Grimface frowned.

“Or Éomer was not trying to help, but hinder us,” the Red Colt grumbled, still clutching his Mare.

“No, I do not think it…” the Golden Mare sighed, and stood. “I—this was not—a horse in fear. I would think, if it were possible—“

“What, Elf?”

“I would say our friend Arod was but having a laugh, but at whom, and why, I cannot say.”

  _What were you doing, friend?_ _Could you not see we were afraid?_

 …his Two Legs it seemed, however pretty and well Horsed, was still incredibly thick. This might prove more difficult than he had thought. Could one so pretty and in such need of mating be so shy?

"Come then, you are both well," the Grimface said. "We must discover what has befallen Merry and Pippin, if we can."

“I am _not_ riding that damned horse,” the Red Colt spoke. “Gimli Gloin’s son will walk a thousand leagues before he rides that thrice-damned horse again.”

“But you cannot keep up. Not on foot, hardy as the folk of Durin may be,” the Grimface frowned. “And I would have us reach Fangorn before nightfall. Come, Gimli. You will ride with me on Hasufel, who is more tame and gentler to rider.”

He did not understand their strange, mewling speech, but one word he did pick out, and snorted his displeasure.

[No. Not on that sway-backed pack horse, that pony, that mule, you will spoil everything!]

He nuzzled the Golden Mare fondly.

[Come, pretty one! Be bold! Say something!]

“No,” the Mare whispered, one hand on her Colt, the other stroking his soft nose. “Friend Dwarf shall ride with me, and I shall teach him not to have such fear of horses. Come, Gimli, and I will have a care you do not fall off.”

“Bloody, sodding Elves. Bloody, sodding horses,” the Colt grumbled, but suffered himself to be Horsed again.

How proud he was! How pleased! He stepped high with pride, trodding carefully through the tall grasses and snow-laden plain, stepping gently through streams and finding sure foot holds in the frozen marshlands. Not once did he stumble, not once did his four, strong feet find any fault. And through all the long leagues of riding the Red Colt clung tightly to her, and she, for her part, placed one hand against his. 

They reached the forest while the sun was still high in the sky. The Two Legs did what Two Legs often did, dismounted and searched about the ground when any good Horse could see the grass was stiff, not sweet, and far too trampled for grazing, and—like usual for Two Legs—came far too near to fire, smoke and Death for his liking. What they were looking for, he could not tell, nor care to guess. These new Two Legs were strange, certainly, but ultimately they unpacked for the night, lit a small fire of their own, and busied themselves as Two Legs were wont before falling asleep on the ground—on the ground!

[The Two Legs were so funny, sometimes.]

He kept watch, of course. He was Horse. It was what Horses did. The woods stirred, the wind howled, and there were strange voices among the trees. There was nothing to report.

And later that night, when the Golden Mare lay down next to her Red Colt and drew his arm about her waist, when he licked her neck and bit her ears, when she whinnied her pleasure and rolled herself down on the grass beneath him and he took her roughly as a good Stallion should, Arod only shook out his mane and snorted in amusement.

...He was—after all—not a tame Horse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...Wherein a well-meaning Arod again takes it upon himself to intervene in the love life of his Golden Mare.

Arod was, as ever, torn between amusement and annoyance. His Two-Legs were, in short, completely besotted with each other like a colt and foal their first spring mating season. Not that he minded, he was not a some shy filly, not some uninterested gelding, and he had done his fair share of mating and siring every chance he could—

 [That pretty Roheryn, for instance. Lovely Northern creature! Such delightfully long legs! Such stamina! How happy he had been his Golden Mare convinced him to follow her through those terrible caves!]

 —but at this rate his Two-Legs would never cross the mountains before winter. And the days were growing cold.

They had left the other Two-Legs behind in the grass-lands. Spent weeks mating under trees in that cramped forest. He had neighed his approval—his Two-Legs had been far too shy amongst the others, riding off into the night, sneaking away from fires, hiding amongst the stables to mate amongst the Horses.

 [He was a Horse. Not a Tame Horse, but used to stables, if they suited him. And accustomed to Two-Legs of all kinds sneaking in and rolling among the hay and straw, however strange it seemed.] 

[Although he supposed with only two legs they really couldn’t mate standing properly, as Horses did.]

[He had later learned this was possible, merely exhausting. Neither had been Horsed the next day.]

Forest floors were fine. Stables were fine. Grasslands were fine. Springs, rivers, whatever water, it didn’t matter, they would spend hours panting together wet and dripping submersed or on shore. Trees—now that was strange! The Red Colt had—he was sure—shared his opinion, but the Golden Mare was as always both beautiful and persuasive.

[Although in these cases there was never much of their mewling speech or bickering snorts. She would simply climb up, shed her coat falling like leaves, and lay among the branches in such a way no Stallion could resist.] 

[Her Red Colt was never far behind.]

And Arod would flick his tail in annoyance, stamp his feet, circle the tree and nicker his disproval—such a thing was not safe! What if they fell? These were his Two-Legs, it was his duty as Horse to keep them whole—this beautiful Golden Mare and her impossible Red Colt who could barely stay Horsed if it weren’t for his own cleverness and skill as they rode.

[But, he supposed, in this as in everything, she would not let him fall.]

But trees weren’t the strangest—or even most worrisome thing:

He had on more than one occasion to interrupt their loud mating to announce the approach of orcs.

He now had to take all night watches as they were too distracted or exhausted from mating to watch over themselves.

He had long since learned to rouse them before midday, or else once they woke they would only mate more, long past evening and until the dead of night, and sleep even later the next day.

He couldn’t count the number of days he had to lead them to water to fill their strange skins and remember to drink!

The Two-Legs, as a rule, did not become Horsed unless they meant to go Somewhere…but at the rate his Golden Mare and her Red Colt were travelling, they would never reach Anywhere, and would probably starve to death first with as fast as they went through their food and as little thought they gave to water. He was beginning to regret teaching the Red Colt how to ride a Mare… 

Although he _most certainly did wish_ there was someone to teach the Golden Mare how to be mated—often she would suckle instead, taking her Red Colt in her mouth and humming like a foal on her mother’s teats! How absurd! The sight always sent him braying with horror, but all his attempts to intervene had only been met with resistance and embarrassment: 

“Bloody fucking fuck, Elf!”

“Do not blame me, _melethron-nîn!_ Am I always to be responsible for everything Friend Arod does?”

_Friend, what are you doing? Can you not see we are enjoying ourselves?_

And she would only continue, moving her hips in rhythm with her mouth.

 

“Bloody. Sodding. Horse!”

“Friend Arod is only a horse, _meleth-nîn!_ He means nothing by it!”

_Friend, what do you do? Can you not see we are together?_

And she would begin to lick and lap at him, suckling anew and mewling in delight.

 

“FOR THE LOVE OF FUCK, I WILL TAKE A BLOODY AX TO YOUR DAMNED NECK, HORSE!”

“You will do no such thing!”

_Are you happy now, Friend? Now he is furious and we are arguing and he will let me love him no longer!_

And she would sit dejectedly in the grass as her Red Colt stamped away, still shouting about 'bloody, sodding Elves' and 'fucking Horses'. Then no matter how much nosing and nudging he did to position her properly did any good, and the Two-Legs would spend the night (or day) neither looking at each other nor touching…and it would fall to him to pretend to stumble until they were again clutching and clinging to one another on his back.

It must be—Arod snorted and shook his mane out in resignation—rather a conversation for two Mares to have together.

[But still. How could she hope to have strong, long-legged colts or foals if she continued mating like THAT?]

 

 

 


End file.
